


Pet Games- Turnabout

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [16]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: There were clothes set out for Berenger on the bed, fine silks and velvets like a pet might wear. He put them on, his skin so hot he thought he might catch fire. There was jewelry, too. Not jewelry he'd gifted to Ancel- jewelry that he must have had commissioned specially, just for this- or a moment like this. A moment when he wanted Berenger to play his pet.
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 29
Kudos: 127





	Pet Games- Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pet Games- Rope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621598) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 



> Vaguely a follow up to [Pet Games- Rope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621598) although seeing as how both of these are basically just excuses to write smut, you can definitely read either as standalone.

* * *

After nearly a year of Ancel's careful maneuvering, the sixth annual Council retreat was scheduled to take place in Varenne.

By then it was an honored tradition started by Kings Laurent and Damianos, a chance for the Kings and Council of the burgeoning joint empire to meet in seclusion and set the agenda for the year ahead. The summer retreats, though they started tensely, soon became something of a small festival for those involved. Berenger and Ancel, of course, as well as Vannes and her latest pet, Nikandros and Makedon and their current partners, and finally the solitary Pascal, Herode having retired a few years back.

It was still an event of solemn importance and Berenger would never have dared host it if he hadn't been sure Ancel would take all the necessary arrangements in hand.

The week-long retreat started off as usual, with long meetings and heated arguments. But as the week approached its finish, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Ancel organized hunts and picnics, evening entertainments of dancers and poets and bards that would be appropriate for Akielon sensibilities. It all culminated in the final night, when Ancel brought in a group of renowned Veretian musicians that Berenger had been wanting to see perform for some time.

He shot Ancel a grateful look at dinner that night, as lavish as was proper while serving the Kings and yet plentiful with the plain foods Berenger preferred. Ancel looked back, though he seemed decidedly sly, an expression Berenger had come to recognize as a harbinger of pleasant things to come.

The musicians did not perform at dinner and Berenger couldn't help turning to Ancel in confusion.

“I have something else in mind,” Ancel murmured as he swirled his wine around in his glass with a private little smirk.

“What do you have in mind?” Berenger asked slowly.

Ancel only smiled up at him over the rim of his glass and shrugged. Dinner came to an end sooner than usual and Ancel leaned closer while the other guests rose to leave.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

Berenger nodded, sure now that he was in for an unexpected evening.

“Then trust me,” Ancel said, and looked pointedly at a door that led out of the hall.

Berenger rose with a faint frown and left the room alone, not sure what Ancel had planned until he returned to their chambers to find a trail of red rose petals leading to a streaming bath. He'd bathed just that morning but the hint was obvious enough. He disrobed, slowly and with some trouble as he didn't have Ancel to help him with the laces, and sank into the bath. The simple soaps he preferred were absent, replaced instead with the sweet-smelling oils Ancel liked.

Berenger washed slowly, starting to suspect what Ancel was planning. He rose from the bath to see the trail of petals continued towards a small wooden table standing incongruously in the middle of the room. Upon it was a single vial of oil.

“Oh,” Berenger breathed out, walking forward slowly. He prepared himself, flushing, before following the trail onwards to the bedroom. There were clothes set out for him on the bed, fine silks and velvets like a pet might wear.

He put them on, his skin so hot he thought he might catch fire. There was jewelry, too. Not jewelry he'd gifted to Ancel- jewelry that he must have had commissioned specially, just for this- or a moment like this. A moment when he wanted Berenger to play his pet.

It was a game he’d considered before, idly but with a sense of excitement. He’d never mentioned it to Ancel, but Ancel had a way of knowing such things before Berenger even knew them himself. Or maybe it was his own fantasy, and he trusted that Berenger would play it out.

He considered the earrings thoughtfully, captivated by the way the rubies glittered in the low light. Jewelry wasn’t in fashion among the nobility, especially not earrings- which were almost entirely the purview of pets and prostitutes. Most Lords did not have their ears pierced, though Berenger did.

When he’d been a boy, his father had had a pet named Lucien- a striking young man with blue eyes and long raven hair. At Berenger’s boyish request, Lucien had pierced his ears one night and helped him put in a pair of gold hoops. Berenger’s father had been furious, but Berenger had refused to take out the hoops in rebellion, right up until he’d inherited the province and been forced to put forward a more serious face.

By then he’d had the piercings long enough it was too late for them to heal over. He’d never worn earrings again, but of course Ancel had noticed, even though they’d never really spoken about it.

His fingers trembled as he slipped the dangling ruby earrings through his earlobes, and then put on the other jewelry too- a necklace of delicate gold chains and bracelets like cuffs, as was the current fashion. There were no shoes for him, so he assumed Ancel intended for him to go barefoot.

There was paint, too- set out over Ancel’s dressing table. Berenger considered it nervously. As part of one of his other games, Ancel had taught Berenger to apply the paint the way he liked- to Ancel. It had led to many nights of laughter and roughhousing, mussed and stained sheets that the maids no doubt despaired over.

As a result Berenger knew enough by now to apply the paint to himself, and for a moment he couldn’t help wondering if Ancel had masterminded this plan from the beginning or if those long-past nights had just been a happy accident. Somehow the clothes and jewelry, the bath and the oil, had seemed if not easy, then at least- possible. But the paint had Berenger drawing up short.

But he knew by now that Ancel’s games were the most fun when he leaned into them.

He let out a huff of disbelief even as he settled at Ancel’s dressing table and started carefully lining his eyes with kohl. Ancel had already picked out the colors for him so he applied them slowly, falling into an oddly meditative state. Once he was finished he followed the trail of red rose petals onwards and found himself standing in front of a door that led back out into the hall.

He paused once more. There were things he was willing to do, games he was willing to play, but he would _not_ make a spectacle of himself. Especially not while he had Akielon and Veretian dignitaries in his fort, enjoying his hospitality. Ancel would know that. After all the time they’d spent together, after everything they’d been through- he’d _know._

He’d thought Ancel would join him in the bedroom, but it was clear now that he was expected to venture forth into the public halls- dressed in jewels and silks and _paint_. The thought of it filled him with dread. Except- Ancel had said to trust him.

Berenger took a deep breath and carefully opened the door.

The hall was dark and empty, lined with candles. The trail of rose petals continued and Berenger followed it with bated breath, the petals silky under his bare feet. The path was quiet, private. The doors to other hallways were closed and barred so there could be no question of where he was meant to be going. He found himself relaxing as he continued onwards without encountering a single soul.

The path led back to the main hall and Berenger paused again in front of the heavy wooden doors. He could hear faint music from beyond, sounds like laughter. But Ancel had said _trust me._

He opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting. For a moment he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking at. The great hall was a large cavernous room, but now he found himself in a narrow intimate space.

There was music playing- the musicians from before as they warmed up and tuned their instruments. They were set up in a rough circle in the middle of the room behind paper screens. There were a multitude of candles in the center between them, throwing their shadows up on the screens in sharp relief. To either side of Berenger were dark velvet curtains, like walls. Behind them he could hear quiet talking and laughter, the clinking of glasses.

In the center of the semi-private temporary room was a thick rug covering the stone floor, and upon it a tall-backed chair with a small table set up beside it with plates and glasses and bottles. And then Berenger’s breath caught in his throat, because _Ancel_ was there, standing in front of the chair with his arm draped casually over the back of it.

He was wearing a set of bespoke riding leathers in black, embossed with elegant swirling designs. His boots came up past his knees, the polished leather hugging his calves sinfully. His pants were tight and high waisted, his doublet severe and elegant. His face was free of paint, his hair pulled back into a neat braid and tied with a leather tie.

As his only bit of jewelry, he wore a heavy gold signet ring on his right middle finger.

Berenger suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Ancel raised an eyebrow with a smirk before moving to sit in the chair, crossing his legs. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the cushion on the floor beside the chair and Berenger swallowed heavily before walking forward and sinking to his knees.

“Begin,” Ancel called out, clapping his hands sharply, just once.

The room grew silent as the musicians paused, then launched into a slow poignant melody. Berenger felt oddly overcome by the whole thing, the sheer level of planning that had gone into it. Ancel had orchestrated something simultaneously public and private, something elicit and safe all at the same time.

Ancel’s hand descended into his hair and Berenger let out a quiet breath, leaning his face against Ancel’s thigh as he watched the moving silhouettes of the musicians while Ancel stroked his hair. It was mesmerizing as much as it was arousing. There was a sound like a loud slap from behind a curtain followed by womanly laughter- Vannes and her pet.

Abruptly Berenger remembered that the _Kings_ were here along with their Council. He looked up at Ancel, the soft way the flickering muted candle light played over the lovely planes of his face.

“Are the others playing your game too?” Berenger asked quietly. The Kyros Nikandros had come with a pretty ex-slave named Isander. Isander had been painfully polite throughout the proceedings, barely daring to raise his eyes even when Nikandros had spoken directly to him. Somehow Berenger had a difficult time imagining they’d switch places. If Nikandros dropped to his knees before Isander, the ex-slave would probably faint.

Ancel’s lips curled up into a smile as he looked down. “The others may play whatever games they like behind the privacy of their curtains. The only rule I’ve decreed is that they don’t get so loud they drown out the music.”

 _Decreed._ Berenger shivered, looking down. Ancel was much better at being a Lord than Berenger was at being a pet.

“You should dress like this more often,” Ancel murmured, making Berenger flush. “You look lovely.”

He heard the sound of pouring liquid and looked up to see Ancel offering a glass of his favorite after-dinner cordial. He moved to take it only for Ancel to shake his head with a smile.

“No, pet,” he murmured and Berenger flushed. When Ancel offered the glass again Berenger leaned forward and let Ancel tip the liquid up to this lips. It seemed to taste sweeter with Ancel feeding it to him. Next there were chocolates- also Berenger’s favorites. One of the few richer foods Berenger enjoyed indulging in.

Ancel took his time bringing them up to Berenger’s lips, his eyes sparkling as Berenger leaned forward to take the sweets with his mouth, his hands folded in his lap. Sometimes Ancel’s fingers would linger to stroke his chin, his lips. Each touch had Berenger shivering in anticipation of something more. Something that Ancel was clearly in no hurry to give him.

The music rose and fell around them, sweet and intimate. There were needy moans filtering in from somewhere. Somewhere there was quiet laughter and hushed voices talking. It was impossible to forget that they weren’t alone and yet impossible to feel as though there was anyone imposing on them.

When Ancel wasn’t feeding him, Berenger rested his head against his thigh and let himself drift through the beautifully dreamlike moment.

Ancel shifted a little and Berenger looked over to see he was hard. He made no demands but Berenger’s breath hitched anyway.

Ancel wouldn’t ask, but it wasn’t unusual for a pet to please their master during an entertainment. It wasn't unusual now, not even after Akielon preferences for privacy had started to pervade Veretian culture.

Ancel wouldn’t ask, but they were playing pet and master. And they were hidden from prying eyes, so it wasn’t so difficult for Berenger to move so he was kneeling between Ancel’s thighs so he could unlace his trousers.

Ancel only sighed quietly as Berenger pulled out his cock. That was when Berenger realized he was hard too. It had seemed distant before, but now it was all he could think about.

He leaned forward to wrap his lips around Ancel’s hot length and slid down. Ancel sighed, letting his head fall back against the chair as he spread his legs wider, almost slouching in his seat.

Berenger moved to touch himself as he moved up and down.

“No,” Ancel murmured. He spoke quietly enough that they probably wouldn’t be heard by the others, at least not while they were occupied. “Hands on my knees.”

Berenger did as he was told with a quiet huff of disappointment. But then Ancel was sinking a hand into his hair to control his pace- slowing him down. Berenger moaned, trying to stifle it and failing.

“Hush,” Ancel whispered. “Easy, now. Slow.”

Berenger let Ancel guide him through sucking his cock, though this was something closer to worship. He pressed kisses to the hot length of it, and ran his tongue up the underside, all the while waiting for Ancel to moan or even shiver, waiting for any sign that he was doing well. Ancel was more restrained now than he’d ever been, making Berenger work for any sign of pleasure or approval.

It was oddly meditative, peaceful. Berenger forgot everything but the music in his ears, the cock in his mouth. Ancel’s cock.

It seemed to last for ages before Ancel pushed him away with a quiet laugh.

“Did you prepare yourself?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Berenger whispered back, flushing.

“Show me,” Ancel said.

Berenger only flushed harder as he moved back to face away from where Ancel was still seated in the chair, arranging himself on his hands and knees over the soft rug. He couldn’t quite bring himself to push the silks away. He felt frozen as he listened to Ancel moving behind him, and then Ancel’s hands were on the backs of his thighs, pushing his silks up.

Ancel hadn’t left him any underthings, so he hadn’t worn any. He felt acutely exposed as Ancel pushed the silks out of the way, leaving his ass bare as easily as pushing back a curtain. Berenger had prepared himself, but that had been an hour ago, or perhaps two. It was difficult to tell in the dreamlike scenario Ancel had crafted.

Still, he wasn’t worried. Ancel would take care of him- he always did. He moaned when two slick fingers unceremoniously pushed inside him, testing and teasing. He spread his legs wider and arched his back, not caring how wanton he must look. If he was meant to be playing a pet, he was only doing his part.

“Fuck,” Ancel whispered, so quietly it was barely audible. “I should have made you finger yourself open while I watched. Maybe next time, pet.”

Berenger couldn’t help the way his hips jerked at the thought. Ancel- watching as he got himself ready to take Ancel’s cock inside him. Maybe he’d be wearing his little outfit from the evening, with the signet ring. Maybe he’d be naked and holding a riding crop, or-

Ancel twisted his fingers and Berenger’s thoughts came to a sudden close as he muffled a moan against his sleeve. It probably didn’t matter- there was a steady chorus of moans rising around them. There was laughter too, that sounded like the Kings. There was the soft slapping of flesh against flesh, the undeniable sounds of fucking.

“Ready?” Ancel asked breathily.

“Yes,” Berenger managed, spreading his legs a little wider in invitation. He felt particularly bare, vulnerable. They rarely did it this way- Berenger the one unclothed while Ancel was fully laced up above him. It felt somehow wicked, delicious. Berenger liked the feel of Ancel’s leathers pressed against the bare skin of his thighs as Ancel lined up his cock and pushed inside.

“Oh,” Berenger breathed out, screwing his eyes shut. The first thrust was always exquisite, sweet and illicit no matter how many times they did this. Ancel was slow and careful, his cock hot and huge inside him- he felt bigger now than when he'd been in Berenger's mouth. He panted quietly as Ancel worked himself inside with slow shallow thrusts, rolling his hips in an easy practiced motion. The rug felt rough against Berenger's cheek, too thin to get any purchase. The only things anchoring him were Ancel’s hands holding his hips in a tight grip. His right hand was slick while the other dry, both calloused lightly from years of riding and weapons training.

He _knew_ Ancel. He knew that Ancel would take care of him, would make this good. He knew by now that Ancel’s games were the most fun when he leaned into them.

 _“Please,”_ he whispered. “Please, master-”

“Oh,” Ancel breathed out sharply. His hips stuttered before stilling and Berenger shifted restlessly, impaled and needy. His cock was so hard between his thighs, dripping already to make a mess of his silks and the carpet. He wanted to touch himself- _needed_ to- but in that moment he knew Ancel wouldn't let him.

He bit his lip as he searched desperately for the sorts of things Ancel might have said to him before, before this was real. “Please take me,” he managed, trying to make it breathy and warm. “Please- master- I need you.”

“Fuck,” Ancel said, like it had been punched out of him. He tightened his hold on Berenger’s hips and thrust in _hard_ in a way that made them both moan. The sound of it mingled with the other moans rising through the hall, half lost in the music.

“Yes,” Ancel said, starting a brutal rhythm that was endlessly satisfying after all the teasing that had gone on before. “Is this it? Is this what you need? My cock?”

“Yes,” Berenger answered, and it wasn’t even a lie. He needed Ancel so desperately that he was forgetting all about the game, the musicians, all the others. “Yes,” he managed, his voice rising. “Please- please, I need you to-”

Ancel folded over his back to cover his mouth with his left hand and Berenger moaned into it, confused and wanting it all the same. He wanted Ancel everywhere, wrapped around him and covering him, inside him.

“Hush,” Ancel muttered into his ear. “Hush- I’ll take care of you. Just- just ease up. Take it.”

Berenger laughed, the sound coming out muffled behind Ancel’s hand. He knew well enough how to take it. After all- this was how they’d been doing it for years now. Ever since they’d figured out that this was what they both preferred.

Ancel was inside him, moving quickly as he pushed in and out. Berenger took it, because there was nothing else he could do, nothing else he wanted. He wanted Ancel inside him and here he was, fucking into him so perfectly that Berenger felt tears prickling at his eyes.

Ancel dropped his free hand to Berenger’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Berenger moaned into Ancel’s hand still covering his mouth, trying to push into the overwhelming sensation of it all.

“There you are,” Ancel muttered. “Let go. Let go for me. Let me-”

Berenger cried out, his whole body seizing. He couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to.

He came, his body pulsing while Ancel was still inside him, still touching him. Everything was suddenly too much and not enough as he spilled over the carpet, shaky and fucked out. Ancel kept going for a few moments longer, each thrust a sweet agony, and then he was stilling too, and breathing out a long shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” Ancel whispered when he finally pulled back and they both collapsed to the ground. Berenger shivered as he fought to catch his breath, his body still shaking with aftershocks as he felt fingers tracing his face and opened his eyes to look into Ancel's.

“That was- that was…” Ancel managed, clearly dazed.

Berenger smiled and pulled him into a kiss, because that _was-_

Amazing. Perfect. A frightening demonstration of Ancel’s talent for foreplanning and logistics, a masterclass on Ancel pulling Berenger’s strings.

The musicians seemed to be winding down. The occupants of the other curtained compartments were silent.

“Let’s go back to our bedroom,” Ancel murmured, sitting up.

“Yes,” Berenger said as he followed, wincing a little as he felt Ancel’s spend trickling out of him. Most times he found it inconvenient, a little unpleasant. Now it was a visceral reminder of the scenario Ancel had created and he found his cock stirring to try for round two.

“Here,” Ancel said, pulling out a cloak that had been draped over the arm of the chair and wrapping it around Berenger’s shoulders to cover up his silks. “There might be people in the halls,” he said with a little grimace. “Let me-” he held up a wet cloth to Berenger’s face and Berenger found himself pulling back.

What did it matter, if someone saw? What did it matter if they played at Berenger being a pet? Ancel had been his pet for years, and he’d never thought less of him for that. What did it say about him if he was so ashamed he didn’t even dare let a bystander think they were playing a game?

“Leave it,” Berenger said. “I’ll wash in our bedroom.”

“You’re… sure,” Ancel said with a frown. Underneath it he seemed pleased.

“Yes, my love,” Berenger said, drawing him closer for a kiss. “I’m sure.”

They held hands as they walked through the dark hallways towards their bedroom, only to come to a sudden stop when they turned a corner and were confronted with a cool breeze, an open door, white rose petals mingling with red, and King Laurent- on his knees before King Damianos.

“Oh no,” Damianos muttered in a voice almost like a squeak, hiding his face in his hands when he saw them. Berenger was painfully aware of his jewelry and face paint, but it suddenly seemed like such a small thing. King Laurent was wearing a chiton, as well as a gold collar and a second gold wrist cuff to match the one he wore every day. He didn’t seem particularly concerned as he pulled his mouth away from Damianos’ cock and turned to regard the interruption. Laurent was wearing face paint too, in the style of an Akielon slave.

Ancel was frozen and practically trembling beside him, so Berenger cleared his throat and said- “Good evening, Your Majesty. Good Evening, Exalted.”

“Good evening, Lord Berenger,” Laurent said with a haughty sniff. “Good evening, Lord Ancel.”

Ancel flushed, his hand tightening around Berenger’s. Their wedding had been two years ago, but he was still unused to being called by his proper title.

“This has been a very fine gathering,” Laurent continued, as cool as summer rain. It was as though he hadn’t been occupied by sucking the cock of the Akielon king just moments before.

“Yes,” Ancel said faintly. “I’m- we’re… so glad you… enjoyed it.”

“Oh- oh no,” Damianos muttered, still hiding his face. “Please- let’s- let’s have this be over.”

Laurent laughed, and to Berenger’s surprise- Ancel joined him.

“Good evening Your Majesty, Exalted,” Ancel said. He tightened his hand over Berenger’s and dragged him onwards towards their bedroom, where they’d no doubt play out the night once more.

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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